GoodNight Cynder
by Rolyat Eivyf
Summary: He dropped from the balcony, free falling for several feet, his body turning and twisting through the air. He wondered if it would hurt to hit the ground, wondered if death could even compare to what he felt now..." ...songfic. Nine Crimes by Damien Rice
1. Chapter 1

_"I've done everything to move on like I'm suppsed to, but I'd give anything for one more minute with you, I still miss you."_

Spyro sat on the railing of a golden balcony which jutted out from the side of his room in the dragon temple, his somber silhouette was cast as an empty black shadow against the blazing yellow sunset. He sat like a lonely ghost, his eyes unfocused, his body slack, his mind reeling like a movie through memories of them. A silver tear raced down his violet face, paused at his jaw, and then dropped, disappearing with all the others into a meaningless pool of regret.

Darkness washed over him as the sun settled behind the rolling hills, and the moon rose to take its place in the inky sky, casting a soft light on the stone dragon upon the balcony. His heart thumped to a broken rhythm, pumping cold blood through his veins. They always say if you love something to let it go, and if it comes back, then it was meant to be. Spyro raised his elegant face to the peppered skies. She had never come back.

_Leave me out with the waste_

_This is not what I do_

_It's the wrong kind of place_

_To be thinking of you_

He dropped from the balcony, free falling for several feet, his body turning and twisting through the air. He wondered if it would hurt to hit the ground, wondered if death could even compare to what he felt now, wondered if maybe he could find peace in the darkness. The wall of black approached rapidly, but Spyro unfurled his long, smooth wings and glided safely above the cold night ground. He flew through the night air, the sting in his eyes from the wind reminding him that he was still alive, that he still felt pain,that his broken heart still beat beneath his golden breast.

He landed in a meadow that even the moon's light did not touch.

_It's the wrong time_

_For somebody new_

_It's a small crime_

_and I got no excuse_

A pale pink dragoness stepped out of the underbrush and into the meadow where Spyro stood, watching her. They approached each other, meeting with a violent kiss, both dragons groped each other, looking for what was not to be found in the other. Spyro's claws scratched against Ember's scales. They fell to the soft grass in the dark, using each other's body and hollow love as comfort. A tear fell from the pink dragons sapphire eyes, her soft cries muffled in Spyro's shoulder.

_And is that all right? Yeah._

_Give my gun away when it's loaded?_

_That all right? Yeah._

_If you don't shoot it how am I supposed to hold it?_

_Is that all right with you? Yeah._

Spyro's eyes stared into space, empty and dead, as he and Ember lay in the dim afterglow of their partnership. Her head was placed hesitantly upon his chest, and he rolled away. The love that they shared, it wasn't the truth, and she knew it before this ever began. He was there and she knew he would never let go, but her heart took a chance now she's taking the blows.

_Leave me out with the waste_

_This is not what I do_

_It's the wrong kind of place_

_To be cheating on you._

Spyro was hardened inside and out. The pink dragoness left, leaving her heart on the ground beside him, stomped and bleeding. He knew she would not be back. Sitting up he glared blankly into the darkness, wishing the answer would materialize before him in the suppressing blackness, something to shatter the shame he felt, something to clean his black slate. He knew what he felt was a lie—he could never love anyone but her.

_It's the wrong time_

_She's pulling me through_

_It's a small crime_

_And I got no excuse_

The purple dragon slammed his powerful claws into the ground, growling in frustration. He missed her, he wanted her, he _needed _her, but she did not want him. His heart was broken in two as he lay in the velvet green grass of the dark meadow and he imagined how happy she was. Her brilliant ebony scales and vibrant scarlet breast and suddenly she was there, dancing among the shadows. Spyro raised his head lazily, his amethyst eyes misty and dull. The dragoness moved in and out of the shadows, melting into and out of the scenery.

_Is that all right?_

_Give my gun away when it's loaded?_

_Is that alright?_

_If you don't shoot it, how am I supposed to hold it_

_Is that alright with you?_

_Spyro watched from a distance, letting the delusion play into his mind. She was perfect—almost surreal. Her slender wings wafted a gentle, sweet smelling breeze towards him and he breathed it in, drugged by her image, he was stupid with it._

"Cynder," he whispered hopelessly.

"She's not coming back, Spyro," Ember said quietly.

"Yes she will," Spyro replied hoarsely, never taking his eyes from the soft shadows. "She will come back. Just give it time."

"She's gone Spyro," Ember repeated.

Spyro shook his once handsome face, smiling awkwardly. "She'll come back."

Ember sighed. "I won't."

_Give my gun away when it's loaded?_

_Is that alright? Yeah._

_How am I supposed to shoot if you won't hold it?_

_Is that all right with you?_

_Give my gun away when it's loaded._

_Is that alright? No._

Spyro stood alone in the lightening dawn. Before he left he turned to the shadowed tree's, smiled fondly and said, "Good night Cynder."


	2. Chapter 2

_"Everybody has an imperfection  
She is picture perfect to me  
At first she has the sweetest intentions  
Now are you gonna believe  
She's always had a secret to tell  
But why'd she keep a secret from me  
Everybody likes to feel the infection  
But are you ready to bleed?"_

_-Theory of a Deadman_

There's a fine line between love and friendship. The only real difference being how much of your heart you lose when that person walks away. But you can't punish them for that, you asked for their answer and they gave it to you. Be it the answer you wanted or not, they were a true friend and they told you the truth. They didn't turn their brain off to accommodate your wants and preferences. They are to the point with you always; they don't lead you on and then leave you stranded. They hold your hand when you don't know who to turn to and they are quiet when you need to talk. They love you regardless of the past you've lived, and they never, ever tell you one thing when they mean another.

So why did that _I love you_ just sound so hollow?

He felt it too. The miserable look on his beautiful face told her that he could tell her resolve was fading. She was torn between this life she chose and where she stood in her heart. He loved her, she knew that, but he didn't understand. At this moment they were two forces bouncing off each other like the same poles of a magnet. He wouldn't even look her in the eyes; his topaz gaze was cast to the dusty floor, seeking comfort in the dirt. Ember stood by the door, kneading her paws anxiously. Cynder sat stiffly on the edge on her bed, rubbing an imaginary spot on the scythe end of her tail.

"I didn't mean to upset you," Ember apologized quietly. "He hasn't been himself for a long time."

Cynder noticed the claw marks that etched almost every inch of Embers slender body. There were crisscrossing scars on her shoulders and jaw line where claws had ripped beneath the delicate pink scales. Her whole countenance had faded, and all of her pink scales had taken on a smoky tinge. She was a ghost of her former self. Even, Cynder noted, her gold neckpiece was missing, leaving only more scratches.

"Are you still with Flame, then?" Cynder queried casually, not looking at Ember.

Ember's head dropped below her chest. "Didn't work out," she replied robotically.

Arson looked at the pink dragoness. "So, you're with Spyro now then?" He asked, an edge to his voice, eyeing Ember's marks.

Ember raised her head and a look crossed her face as if she had just remembered something very important that she had forgotten. "No, he doesn't care about me."

Cynder stepped off the low bed and approached the dragoness. Ember adjusted herself to Cynder, turning her face and leaning slightly away, defensive, as if Cynder was going to hurt her. "Ember," Cynder said slowly, "Who did this to you?"

Ember smiled slowly, the kind of smile that makes you want to step away from its bearer, the kind that says something is very wrong. "He'd never hurt anyone." She tilted her head to the side like she was thinking really hard. "But you know . . ." She trailed off, looking suddenly startled. She shook her head. "I have to go. I hope you will come visit us sometime Cynder."

And then she was gone. Arson shook his head sadly, moving across the room to where Cynder sat, staring at the floor with glassy eyes. Arson placed his paw on her shoulder, trailing it down until his claws touched hers.

"You know you can't go back," he whispered softly. "You don't know what he'd do."

Eyes locked on the floor, Cynder squeezed her partner's paw. "I know him, Arson. I know he wouldn't have done that. She said it wasn't him." She pulled her paw away from his, slowly bringing her eyes painfully to Arson.

"She was lying and you know it."

Cynder did know it. And yet she could not accept that her Spyro—her healing light—had done something so vicious to someone as gentle as Ember. She wasn't a fighting dragon, and if Spyro had beaten her for sport she probably wouldn't have even known how to defend herself. She didn't have any elements, and she was generally soft as dragons go. What was worse was that Ember would never have told anyone what was happening to her. She loved that purple fool too much.

"This isn't your fault, Cynder."

"I left him broken." She looked up into his golden eyes suddenly. "I should have made things better before I left," she said softly.

Arson shook his head resolutely. "It is not your fault. He told you to go. What more could you have done?"

Cynder felt a pang of regret at the memory. "I know he did. But I didn't have to leave him the way I did; so abruptly. It was heartless of me Arson!"

"Who is to say that you wouldn't have left him anyways for some reason or another?" Arson snapped angrily.

Cynder sighed, regarding her partner with a somber sapphire gaze. "None of us handled those few days with much grace_,_" she said. "Things could have ended differently." She frowned. "And you. It's not like you made things easy for _anyone."_

The black dragon snorted. "And make the separation slower for him? You did all you could do by making a clean break." He sighed. "And I was only trying make my position at the time clear."

Cynder shook her head. "What is wrong with you?" Arson looked away, his golden eyes locked on the floor. Then, the thought hit her and the realization hit her like a wrecking ball. "You think I'll leave you again?" She asked.

"No, of course not." He looked away, shifting so that there was an inch between them now.

Cynder glared. "Your mouth says no but you're pathetic deflection has guilt written all over it! After I've given up so much to stand here with you, after everything I did to _him_ for _you_!" Cynder leaned her body against Arson, carefully wrapping her tail around his. "I love _you_," she whispered against his neck. There was something in her own voice, a hitch, that made it sound forced.

He pulled away and looked at her with pleading eyes, his last silent attempt to make her stay, to make her forget. But trying to forget someone you loved is like trying to remember someone you never knew. This, he knew all too well. She looked up into his liquid gold eyes, so brilliant against his ebony scales, so beautifully sad. And in that moment she had told him she was going, and he could not stop her.

Warfang slept silently beneath the new moon, blanketed in solemn darkness. Buildings jutted into the inky, starless night sky. Arson stood in the doorway of their home, watching as the only thing that had ever mattered to him faded into the night sky. Leaving him like that was one of the hardest things she had ever had to do, but that guilt just couldn't measure up to the guilt she felt for how what she had done to Spyro. _Spryo_. The name put a bitter taste in her mouth and an uneasy pressure on her heart. She had loved him once—that she could not deny. Now however, she had no name for the feeling that clung to the purples dragon's reputation. Disappointment, fear, betrayal, loathing—take your pick, any of them could fit.

Cyril was waiting for her when she landed near the entrance to the main square. Even though Cynder was near her full maturity, Cyril's massive, elegant blue countenance made her feel small and unimportant. She still had to look up into his glittering blue eyes. They regarded each other silently for a moment, but old, unbreakable bonds warmed the air and the two met in a friendly embrace.

"Welcome home, my dear," he beamed, setting her back to look at. "My, my have you _grown_!"

Cynder smiled sheepishly. "I might have grown a few inches." On the contrary, she had bloomed into a stunning dragoness. Her scales shone in vibrant shades of fathomless ebony and crimson. She was accented along her shoulders and haunches with shimmering silver markings, and four sweeping horns rose imposingly from her head. Her jaw was lined with smaller, razor sharp spikes that tapered down to her feminine face. Her lithe figure was long and muscled, her wings battered but strong and healthy. She was eye catching from every angle.

"Oh, don't be modest, my dear, you look lovely." A proud smile touched his eyes. "If Spyro could—" Cyril stopped abruptly, realizing his slip a moment too late. Cynder flinched and contempt shattered the warm reunion at the mention of the reason for Cynder's return.

She wondered if he knew that was why she had come home. He had been waiting for her. He must have suspected as much. Cynder cleared her throat, relieving the awkward the silence. "How's he been?" She asked, avoiding his gaze while trying to sound casual.

Cyril was silent for a long moment, weighing each word before he said it out loud. "It's been ups and downs for a while now. It's been harder on her then the rest of us, though," he said coolly.

"Her?" Cynder asked innocently, but she knew he was referring to the battered Ember.

"Don't think I don't know why you came so quickly, miss Cynder," he responded knowingly, lowering his eyes to hers.

She sighed. "So, he's really . . ."

He nodded, not needing for the words to be said aloud.

A twinge of guilt. "Then what are we waiting for?"

"Yes," another voice said from behind Cyril, who visibly tensed. "What are we waiting for?" Spyro smiled sardonically, his eyes dark in the shadows. "Cynder," he purred, "It's been such a long time."


End file.
